I remember a time when Time seemed to behave itself almost perfectly. I went through life, things happened, and once they’d happened they were consigned to a bit of my mind labelled ‘Memories’. Anything beyond the Now I was in at that moment was labelled ‘Future’, and although I could sometimes have a good guess at some of what was to come, there was never anything fixed or certain about it.
It wasn’t quite perfect, though. I remember that, too. There were the glitches. Most were too brief or indistinct to take much notice of, but a few of them stuck stubbornly in my mind, nagging me to notice them.
You get them too? Of course you do. We all do. Maybe we try to pass them off with a casual, “Oh, what a coincidence…”
You ‘knew’ that friend was going to ring you. You were just thinking about that person, and there they were, walking round the next corner. Somehow you knew which song was coming up next on the radio, before it started playing.
Sometimes, though, ‘coincidence’ just won’t do as an explanation.
The day I lay in bed, in that drowsy half-awake-half-asleep state and heard a lady telling me I’d have to move out of my house, would have been easy to pass off as a dream, except that five hours later I was phoned by an estate agent with the same voice, telling me my landlord was selling up and I would have to leave. I think that was the day I stopped believing Time worked the way it was meant to.
Since that day, I’ve been on the lookout for proof that there’s more to this Time malarkey than might seem apparent. With the help of a couple of very good friends, I’ve come as close as I can to a double blind experiment. See what you make of this:
- I tell my remote viewing partner that I have no idea where I’ll be at 1 pm six days ahead. I ask him to view my location at that point.
- He does a viewing and texts me to say I’ll be somewhere with a row of tall, thin trees, a car park, a statue with something round at its base – maybe containing water, a very strong light source and a rectangular building with a newly tiled roof.
- In order to avoid consciously hunting out a place that would fit his description, I ask another friend – one who has no connection with him at all – to drive me to a location of her choice on the target day, and at 1 o’clock. I tell her Will has viewed the place, but nothing of what he has seen.
- On the day, she has chosen a venue and drives me there, arriving at 12.15, but the place she had chosen has closed down, so she makes the decision to head to a garden centre some miles away.
- We reach the garden centre at 12.56.
- I immediately see a row of trees, including two tall poplars.
- We stop in the car park.
- We walk into the main building and see a small and peculiarly ugly statue of a cherub/fat child pushing a wheelbarrow, containing a well-watered plant.
- As we walk out towards the plant area, I notice that the building is lit by huge, industrial halogen lamps. At exactly 1 pm I am standing directly under one. I then walk outside and – for the first time in two days – the sun comes out.
- None of the buildings is tiled – newly or otherwise, but apart from that, the matches seem pretty good.
- We spend some time in the garden centre, then prepare to leave. As we come out of the main entrance, a movement beyond the boundary fence of the car park catches my eye.
- It is a builder climbing a ladder on the roof of a newly built house. It is covered with black roofing felt, with piles of roof tiles laid out across it. The man is just beginning to tile the roof. Next to the house is the one he and his companion had presumably completed during the morning. It is the only building on this new housing development that has a finished roof.
So where does that leave Time? William didn’t just see where my location would be six days ahead – a location neither I nor anyone else had decided on; he saw it at the moment in time that I was there. Six days before, those houses would only have been partially built. A few hours later, there would have been more than one newly tiled building. Will only saw one. Therefore he must have viewed it as it was at 1 pm on that particular day.
I’m not denying the existence of Time. Obviously, it played a crucial role in our experiment. What I’m suggesting, though, is that Time is infinitely bendy. Once we believe that we can move beyond it, dipping in and out where we wish, that can happen. Certainly I’m incredibly lucky to have William to work with. He possesses exactly the kind of ‘A-Thought‘ or autistic thinking which allows him to open his mind beyond ‘common sense’ and into realms most of us can only glimpse. No matter how seemingly crazy the experiments I suggest, he simply responds, “Yes, I’m happy to try that.”
And he succeeds.